We read with awe the frustrations of those artists who went before us. We are in thrall of the rejection, the humiliation, the horrific circumstances of their lives because we see the end result. That which occurred during the later part of their lives, or sadly after their death. Acceptance. Entrance in the club of the forgiven. And yet, one small rejection and we are petrified, frozen..ready to give it up and blame the masses for their neglect. Tail between our legs, we blame the universe and return to the bio’s of other great artists who suffered as we do. But we don’t read the last chapter. On one level we understand that rejection is a great part of success, but we don’t want to go through the fire built under our feet by the pig-like. After all, we loathe them, and why shouldn’t we? I mean, pigs are cute, but a pig in a suit or even a pair of shorts, while driving any kind of car, is a monstrosity. We don’t absorb the idiocy. We continue to be thwarted by rejection of pigs– all the while reading how the great artists of all time were rejected by pigs. Why do we feel that we should have it easy? Because they came before us– like Christ–and forgave us our sins so that we might suffer not?? Why do we give up so easily? Those great ones in the past kept going despite greater odds than we will ever know. Is it the fast pace of the now? The time equation propagated by the media, the quick pace of internet, the now factor? Now now NOW. If it doesn’t happen NOW, it won’t happen. That’s the difference. Our treadmill moves too quickly. No one has the hope of tomorrow, because the treadmill doesn’t move towards tomorrow. It is always today, this house, this minute… and you’d better be known now, this minute…or it’s too late.
Etc.
Laurel writes about the world
I thought I wanted a “boyfriend”
“Losing site of her objectives, she redoubled her efforts” Truer words have never been plagarized. At some point between loneliness and confusion I realized that I did not want a boyfriend. How could this be? Everybody wants a boyfriend, or partner, or girlfriend or mistress or husband/wife, SOMEONE Continue reading
Newport Underground
Laurel Casey 